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Identity Crisis 1.0

May 30, 2011

When you are a child, holidays have a different meaning. As you grow older, and your circumstances change days “off” are reserved for errands or chores or “fun activities” that you never seem to have time for in the grind of daily life. Or, if you’re like me, you work straight through holidays. This year was the first in several that I didn’t have to work on Christmas Eve or Easter Sunday. I sure am working all of Memorial Day weekend though. And I’ve been powering right through, bribing patrons to purchase overpriced salsas and making them fall in love with me enough to tip 20% over heavy-handed margaritas, and missed two different barbecues, and one special one on the east coast…having to settle instead for an MMS photo of my childhood friend’s new left-hand adornment. This is what growing up is, though, realizing that you cannot be there for every moment, every “fun time”, every milestone or excitement. Especially when you peace out 3,000 miles away to pursue a dream that 125,000 other 25 year old brunettes with good comedic timing are fighting you for. Aye, there’s the rub.

I don’t know where I was going with this, but after writing and deleting, and writing and deleting, and…writing and deleting a few paragraphs of mindless fodder I’ve come up with this: I’m a little bit lost. My east coast visit was incredibly therapeutic, but I need more of it. I’m so consumed in my little contained life here that I’ve lost sense of reality (isn’t that what’s supposed to happen in Los Angeles?) and who I am. My identity seemed so secure when I was a little bit more of a mess, I was “the mess”, now I can’t be “the mess” because I seemingly have my shit together. Fuck, I have a puppy. But I’m not. I’m still “the mess”. I still spill half of the things you put in my hands, I still back my car into cement poles (okay, that was a first, but I’m blaming Ikea), but now it’s not as funny anymore. No one is saying, “OH THAT’S SO ADRIA”, all I get is, “I’m worried about you.” I don’t want to be genuinely worried about. I want to be mocked, lovingly. But I’m not surrounded by my gentle, condescending (no ill-feelings, by the way) pack of pals, because I’m growing up and doing my own thing. So my old “quirks” are now just personality flaws. I suppose “the mess” needs to grow out and up from the mess. But it’s hard to lose your identity.

I guess what I’m really trying to say is that it’s hard to go from being known as the funny, quirky, always-single girl to being identified in your “new life” as the girl who lives with her boyfriend and doesn’t go out all that much.

How am I supposed to go out, though, when there was a goddamn drive-by shooting less than half a mile from my HOME last week? I mean, F that, I’ll pour myself a little rum on the rocks and watch my dog lick sour cream off of my feet for the rest of my evenings if it means not getting shot in the ass by some halfway initiated gang douchebag.

One Comment leave one →
  1. June 2, 2011 9:50 AM

    No one is saying, “OH THAT’S SO ADRIA”, all I get is, “I’m worried about you.”

    This made me laugh out loud. I miss you. I’m not worried about you and I still think you’re just an adorable mess, not a worrisome one. Let’s face it, you have the big stuff on the right track. Who cares if you knock some things over occasionally? Fuck it, I always say.

    I absolutely know what you mean and I’ve been struggling feeling so far away from my girlfriends (though in my case it’s 300 miles instead of 3,000…except that you and I are also 3,000 miles away…you know what I mean) and it’s hard to talk your life out with people via ghcat and phone calls.

    I don’t think you’re any less Adria than you’ve always been, you’re just a more adult version of it. Same as I’m a more grown-up Rachel. It’s way less fun, but don’t you remember that Blink-182 song? Of course you do…well I guess this is growing up.


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